


Somebody That You Used To Know

by Nightwing11



Category: Batman (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Family, Family Drama, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightwing11/pseuds/Nightwing11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce must race against the clock to save Jason after he falls prey to to the Joker yet again. Can he save the wayward bird and finally get him to come home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somebody That You Used To Know

Bruce stormed down the hall of the warehouse, leaving a pile of thugs in his wake. He had one focus right now; the Joker.

 

Earlier that night Damian had practically carried Tim into the med bay of the cave, the older boy bleeding profusely. The boys had had a run in with Joker, with Tim taking the brunt of the punishment protecting Damian.

 

His youngest had explained that Joker had trapped them and beaten Tim, but that Red Hood, that _Jason_ had shown up. Apparently, the targets were never Tim and Damian, but Jason. Joker felt that him coming back from the dead ruined the greatest punch-line he had ever delivered, and there was only way to stay on top, and that was to kill the Red Hood once and for all.

 

The madman had given Jason an option: he had to choose between either Joker killing Damian and Tim or reliving some old memories. He of course sacrificed himself to save his brothers and told Damian to get out of there and to “Tell Bruc…tell Dad I’m sorry.”

 

So, Joker had sent the two younger birds free, no doubt wanting to make sure that Batman got the message that Red Hood was at his mercy. So, once the boys had made it back to the cave, Bruce had called Dick to come watch over them and left them in the hands of Alfred, before rushing off to find Joker.

  
After tracing a few leads, he found his way to the warehouse the Joker was in, and he was in no mood for games.

 

Taking out the last few goons that separated him from the Clown Prince, Batman quickly disarmed the gun the Joker was holding and pinned him against the wall with his forearm against his throat.

 

_“Where. Is. My. Son?”_

 

“Get off of Mr. J!” Harley Quinn shouted and ran toward the pair, but Batman shoved her to the ground, never taking his eyes off Joker.

 

“Move again Harley and I’ll crush his larynx.”

 

Sensing the serious and desperate gleam in Batman’s eyes, the Joker’s “girlfriend” stayed where she was, not daring to risk Joker’s safety.

 

“Ah, Batsy, come to play?”

 

“I don’t have time for your games Joker. I know you have Red Hood. Tell me where he is, _now.”_

“What, and ruin the big punch-line? Come on B, you know me better than that!” Joker replied with a cackle, his voice strained behind Batman’s forearm.

 

“Where is he?” Batman growled out.

 

“Oh what’s the matter Bats? Scared you’ll be too late like last time?”

 

Batman visibly tensed at this, causing the Joker to laugh. “Oh, don’t worry. He should still be alive, for now at least.”

 

_“Where is he?”_ Batman shouted, pulling Joker forward before slamming him back against the wall, knocking the wind out of him and causing his head to whiplash. The clown just laughed.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you where he is…eventually. By then it’ll be too late again, of course. It’ll be just like last time! Oh, memories.”

 

Seeing he was getting nowhere, Batman punched Joker in the gut, hard, then looked around, trying to think of another way to get the Joker to talk. Suddenly, his eyes fell on the gun on the ground. He shuddered at the thought of touching it, using it to harm another person potentially. But, another part of his brain pointed out that, in order to save Jason, he may have to come closer to crossing his line than he ever had before, something he wasn’t necessarily comfortable with.

 

The Batman and Bruce had an internal argument; the Batman screaming that _he didn’t use guns_ but the father in him rationalized that he would do whatever he had to do to save his son.

 

So, he reached down and grabbed the pistol from the ground, pulling back the hammer before pushing the barrel against the Joker’s skull.

 

_“Where. Is. Red. Hood?”_

 

“You won’t kill anyone Batsy, we all know it.”

 

“You took my son from me once. Killed him in cold blood. Every night I went to bed with the images of his death running through my mind. Was he scared in those last few moments? Was he in too much pain to know what was happening? Did he think I was coming to save him? Did…did he cry out for me? For seven years those thoughts have haunted me and now, you try to take him from me again? I will never let you take my son from me again. I don’t care what I have to do.”

 

Joker laughed. “Fine, go ahead then. Finally put one in my brain.” If it was possible, the Joker’s smile grew. “That would be the greatest joke of all time, finally destroying the Batman and all his morals. Either way, I’ll never tell you where the kid is.”

 

To the Joker’s shock, the Batman actually smirked back at him. “Oh, I know you won’t talk.” He then turned slightly to Harley. “Quinn…do you want Joker to die.”

 

“Harley, don’t say…” Joker started, but Batman pushed his forearm so hard against his throat that Joker couldn’t talk.

 

“You…you won’t kill him.” Harley stated, but it came across more as a question.

 

“You never thought I’d use a gun either did you?” He asked, smirking like a mad man. “You and him have pushed me over the edge, and if he won’t tell me where my son is so I can save him, I’ll make sure that he dies along with him, never able to hurt another person.”

 

“You wouldn’t.” Harley protested, causing Batman to shoot the gun up toward the ceiling.

 

“Don’t tell me what I won’t do!” He shouted, causing Harley to wince. “That’s my son, hurting, bleeding, dying…I would have killed Joker the first time he took him away had Superman not stopped me. Don’t underestimate my state of mind right now.”

 

Harley looked on, wide-eyed, before she quickly stammered out. “We…we buried him. Alive, in a coffin. Mr. J p-put enough oxygen in t-there so he would be in there f-freaking out for a few hours.”

 

“You…” Batman growled out between clenched teeth, his forearm going further into Joker’s throat, “You buried my son alive?” He glared at Harley. “Where?”

 

She stood, frozen by the fierceness of the Batman’s voice.

 

“WHERE!?”

 

“Out in the old cemetery on the outskirts of the west side of town. We put his helmet on a stake to mark the grave.”

 

Bruce growled then took Joker’s head and slammed it as hard as he could against the wall, knocking him out cold, before turning to Harley and knocking her out as well. He tied the pair up quickly before rushing out of the warehouse, telling Dick via the communicator to tell the GCPD where they could pick the duo up.

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce pushed the accelerator down with such force that, had the Batmobile not been made of the toughest material around, he would have kicked his foot clear through the floorboard.

 

He drove with complete and utter reckless abandon. There would be no stopping to fend off a mugging, no slowing down for red lights. Anyone or anything that got in his way would be blasted out of the way. He would not, _could not,_ let Jason down again.

 

The squealing tires of the Batmobile broke through the calm of the night in the desolate and abandoned old cemetery, and, before the wheels had finished moving, Batman was already out of the vehicle, rushing toward the fresh patch of dirt and red hood he had spotted about 25 yards from where he was currently parked.

 

Shovel in hand, he quickly began to dig the dirt away, cursing himself until he was blue in the face for not having some modified feature on the Batmobile that could have dug the hole faster. Luckily, it was unseasonably warm for the Gotham fall so the ground wasn’t frozen solid and the Joker hadn’t dug the entire six feet, thus making Batman’s task much easier than it may have been otherwise.

 

He couldn’t think, wouldn’t think that he might be too late. It just wasn’t an option. Not this time. He would save Jason. Unlike the last time, he would _not_ fail _his son_ again.

 

Finally, the coffin was uncovered and Batman had to stop a moment to reign in the fury that he felt rising within him. For, in front of him, lay a steel coffin.

 

A _steel_ coffin. That d*** clown had put his boy, his _son_ in a death trap that he couldn’t possibly escape like last time. Taking a jagged breath, Bruce got himself under control before he used the shovel to break the lock on the outside of the casket.

 

He braced himself as he opened it, not knowing what he’d find, if Jason would be dead or alive. But, knowing he could not leave his son alone for a minute longer, he quickly opened the lid.

 

The sight before him floored him.

 

Jason was in a suit - _that f***** clown put him in a death suit -_ and was shaking like a leaf. His skin was pale and clammy. Tear tracks marred his face, along with an array of colorful bruises that looked like they had been inflicted by a crowbar, yet again. The kid’s eyes were glassy and distant as even more tears leaked out of them.

 

He stared for a moment, unable to move because it was as if he had just been teleported back in time to seven years ago; he was standing in front of the casket at the funeral home, staring down at the broken form of his son, dressed in his best suit, evidence of the Joker’s madness on his bruised face. The only difference this time was that his mask was still in place (even if it was torn) and his cuts had not been cleaned.

 

His logical side quickly took over as he focused on the extremely shallow up and down movements of Jason’s chest. He was alive. Bruce hadn’t been too late, but he might be if he didn’t get the young man calmed down.

 

“Hood,” he said loud enough to grab the boy’s attention, reaching for the twenty-something vigilante, but stopped when the man in question grew wide-eyed and used what little strength he had left to try to get even further away from him. His shaking increased and his eyes were pulsing fear. He looked on unfocused as he tried to put as much distance between him and Batman as humanly possible.

 

Knowing what he had to do, Bruce didn’t even glance to make sure the cost was clear before he quickly pulled down his cowl, revealing the emotional face of Bruce Wayne.

 

“Jason.” The Batman within him hated how his voice broke and sounded so d*** weak, but the father in him quickly silenced the criticism, because he didn’t care. Bruce didn’t care, because Jason was _alive._ He reached a calming hand forward. “Son.”

 

Jason looked up, the white streak of hair matted down by sweat. “D-Dad?” He rasped out quietly, his voice nearly gone from screaming his throat raw in the coffin. Bruce nodded and made a cautious move toward the boy.

 

“Yeah Jase, it’s me.” He replied, and gently scooped the boy into his arms and lifted him as quickly out of the coffin as he could. He was mindful of the kaleidoscope of bruises he was sure marred his son’s body under the suit, but a whimper and gasp of pain still sounded from Jason’s mouth, sending daggers to Bruce’s heart. Holding him like one would a small infant, he cradled him to his chest, sitting down on the ground next to the hole.

 

Jason was bleeding from his bottom lip and it looked as though he had coughed up a little blood. His left eye was swollen shut and a rather large gash traced his hairline. His nose seemed to be broken and his left arm hung awkwardly as well, but he was _alive_ and that’s what Bruce clung to.

 

Jason said nothing, but just continued to shake and cry with distant, scared eyes. He rose his hands up to Bruce’s chest and quickly started clutching at the Bat symbol, as if trying to grab onto something to secure his hold to Batman and insure he would not be left alone again.

 

Bruce’s had to swallow a lump in his throat as he first noticed how bloodied his sons hands were. Fingernails had been ripped off and horrible scratches had been made, no doubt in Jason’s attempt to escape the coffin as he did last time. Seeing how agitated his charge was becoming at finding nothing to cling to, he quickly flipped his cape over his shoulder so it was still attached to him but was also accessible to Jason. The Red Hood instantly latched onto it, bunching the fabric in his hands as he buried his head into Bruce’s chest.

 

“Shhh. Jason, you’ve got to calm down.” He ordered softly, tears building in his own eyes as he saw the pain his boy was in. He raised a hand and carded it through the white tuft of Jason’s hair, hoping the act would calm the wayward bird, but it did nothing.

 

Quickly maneuvering his hands so he could check the pulse, his own heart nearly stopping at the rhythm; entirely too fast. He was uncertain of how long Jason’s heart had been going that hard, but he knew he had to get it slowed down before his body started to shut down due to the stress.

 

“Jase…shhh. Calm down for me buddy.” He tightened his grip around the young man, but the shaking only got worse as the boy buried himself further into Batman’s arms. Sighing and blinking back more tears, Bruce realized what he would have to do to calm his son.

 

“Jason,” he gripped the boy’s face in his hands, pulling him back slightly to look in his eyes, which were still glazed and unfocused. “Listen to me. I’ve got to get you calmed down, so I’m going to make you go to sleep. Just for a little bit, alright?” Despite asking in a voice he hadn’t used since the Robins had been very small children, he still freaked Jason out. He tightened his grip on the cape so extremely that he almost pulled it clear off of Batman’s costume.

 

Reading the fear in Jason’s eyes, Bruce gently lowered a kiss onto the top of his head. Again, the Batman screamed at him for being so soft, but the father screamed back that this was _his_ son and that the Batman had failed him more times than it was possible to count and that now, Bruce Wayne would do whatever it took to help Jason. And if that meant finally acting like a father, then so be it.

 

“I’ll be right there when you wake up.” He looked into his eyes again. “I promise.”

 

A slight nod from Jason was all he needed before he raised his glove up and let the knockout gas seep through. He sighed with relief as Jason’s now relaxed and calm form slumped against him. He ran another comforting hand through Jason’s hair before pulling his cowl back over his head. Picking Jason up, he gently carried him to the Batmobile and placed him in the vehicle. However, he could not get the boy to release the death grip from his cape. He quickly reached up and detached it from behind his cowl, tucking it around him. He took a moment to study Jason’s features before quietly closing the door and getting into the driver’s seat.

 

“Alfred. I have him. Get the med bay ready.”

 

* * *

 

 

_The crowbar slammed down against him again and again and again. The agony was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. His blood splattered against the walls and the floor as the metal crashed down against his flesh, the sound echoing against the warehouse walls._

_Worse than the pain though was the maniacal laughter that filled his ears constantly, growing loudest right before the crowbar made contact with his already bruising skin._

_He kept his mouth shut, despite the pain that engulfed him. He only let out an occasional whimper or groan, but inside, all he wanted was for Batman to come in and save him._

_He didn’t want his Father, Willis Todd. Glancing over, he didn’t seek comfort from the birth mother who had betrayed him. Instead, all he wanted was for Bruce to just come and take him away from all this. Despite being a rebellious teenager, all he wanted was for Bruce to hold him until he forgot this nightmare._

_He would apologize over and over for everything he had done and said, every rebellious thought or action of his, every time he had offended Bruce or Alfred or anyone else. He’d be the perfect Robin, the perfect son if Bruce would just save him._ Dad, please. _He thought over and over. But Batman never showed, not even when the flames of the explosion engulfed him._

_The scene changed. He was inside a pine box, air filling his lungs after a far-too-long absence. The pain and hurt exploded through his ribs as he screamed out in pain. Panic and fear drove him as he started failing around, trying desperately to get out of the suffocating confinement._

_He pounded and pounded at the roof of the coffin, but it didn’t budge. He was stuck inside, trapped. The walls were closing in around him and he did the only thing he could think of; he screamed for Bruce._

_“DAD!!!!!!!!”_

 

* * *

 

 

After Bruce arrived back at the manor, the night had become both a blur of movement and an unbearably slow, agonizing evening – well, morning technically. While he had let Alfred handle the more severe injuries, such as the stitching on the cut along Jason’s forehead and setting his left forearm back in place and slinging it, once Jason was out of the woods, Bruce insisted on patching him up the rest of way. He stitched the cuts along his ribs, cleaned and bandaged his hands, and administered painkillers. He wanted so badly to wake the boy up somehow just to hear him yell, cuss, scream – he didn’t care. He just wanted to see his son awake. But knowing his son needed the rest, he sat and accepted the torment in order for his son to heal faster.

 

Remembering how freaked out Jason was when he found him, he decided that Jason waking up in the middle of the med bay probably would do nothing but stress him out more. After conforming that it wouldn’t harm Jason anymore to be moved, he gently cradled the boy against his chest again and carried him up the stairs to the Manor, taking him towards the master bedroom.

 

After sending his other three protesting sons to Wayne Tower so he could focus on Jason, whom he had already determined he was not allowing to leave until he was fully healed despite the likelihood he would fight it tooth and nail, Bruce settled into his seat, not leaving his vigil at his son’s bedside, even after Jason had been unconscious for an entire day.

 

Which is why when Bruce was startled from his musing by a dark blur rushing by him, he was simultaneously relieved that his son was now awake, but also extremely concerned that he was out of bed. He looked up to see Jason stumbling toward the bathroom. He nearly fell, but Bruce was already by his side in an instant, holding a steady hand against him as he led him to the toilet, feeling the boy attempting to keep his lurching body in check.

 

Jason would have fallen to the floor in a heap had Bruce not gently lowered him to the floor as he began to empty the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. His one good arm shook under the weight of his body, but the Batman’s gentle hands held onto his shoulders, keeping him from falling forward and injuring himself more.

 

Jason’s ribs screamed in protest as he heaved into the bowl. By the time he was finished, silent tears of pain streamed down his face. With his good arm wrapped around his aching ribs, he ungracefully lowered himself into a seated position then fell sideways into Bruce’s chest.

 

The older man wrapped his arm around the shaking body, rubbing soothing circles in his back as the young man slumped in exhaustion against him, breathing heavily, a fine layer of sweat covering his body.

 

“Is it the concussion? Did he give you something?”

 

Jason gently shook his head against Bruce. “Nigh’mare.”

 

Bruce sighed with relief that it was nothing more serious as he continued to try to calm the boy.

 

A shadow filled the doorway and the water turned on, causing Bruce to look up.

 

Dick Grayson stood by the sink wetting a washcloth, a solemn expression on his face.

 

“Dick? I thought I told you to go to the Tower with Tim and Damian.”

 

“I called Babs. She and Dinah are there with them.”

 

“And why aren’t you there too?”

 

“Because this brother needs me more than the other two do.” He explained, handing the now wet wash cloth to Bruce as he knelt down in front of the duo, gently patting Jason’s leg. “It’s going to be alright Little Wing. You’re safe now.”

 

With that he stood up and looked at Bruce. “I know you can handle this, but I’ll be in my room if you need me.” He handed the Batman two more pain-pills and a glass of water that was sitting on the sink.

 

Bruce nodded his gratitude before he gently began wiping Jason’s face off. He then gently coaxed him into taking the painkillers. Mere seconds after, Jason was slumped against Bruce again, out cold, causing the older man to sigh before gently picking up the younger man and carrying him back to the bed.

* * *

 

The first thing Jason thought as he woke (this time without being completely disoriented from painkillers and sedatives) was that something wasn’t right. The bed was entirely too soft to be his own, which was a lumpy piece of crap you could feel the springs through. The room was the perfect temperature as well, unlike his crappy apartment which was probably in the fifties at the moment.

 

Plus, when did he get a cast and sling on his arm. And why did his ribs feel like he had been run over by a tractor-trailer.

 

Then it all came flooding back. Saving Tim and Damian. The Joker. The crowbar.

 

He opened his eyes with a gasp, his good arm already flailing as he attempted to sit up.

 

Looking around, he quickly relaxed when he realized that he was in fact safe, but then tensed almost immediately back up when he saw where he was.

 

Wayne freaking Manor.

 

And Bruce was sitting right next to his bed, the epitome of worry on his face.

 

_Fan-freaking-tastic._

Jason looked over at Bruce before shaking his head. He didn’t remember how he had gotten to Wayne Manor, but he didn’t care. He sure as heck wasn’t staying. “F*** this s***.” He tried to get out of the bed, but Bruce quickly stopped him with a stern “No” and a gentle hand on his chest.

 

“Don’t tell me what…”

 

“Jason, enough.” Bruce cut off. “You’re hurt and look like you haven’t had enough food or sleep for months.”

 

“Oh, you care this time?”

 

“D***it, of course I care!” Bruce practically shouted, standing up from the chair and running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t moved from that chair in three days waiting on you to wake up!”

 

“Wait…I was out three days?” Jason asked, shaking his head slightly at the news, but winced as it caused his headache to flare back up. Bruce reached over by the bedside table and handed him a glass of water and two painkillers.

 

“You woke up two days ago because you had a nightmare, but you were in a lot of pain, so we gave you some more medicine that has kept you out for a while.”

 

Jason gladly took them before looking back at Bruce, some of the malice replaced with confusion and concern. “What happened?”

 

“You don’t remember?” Bruce asked, to which Jason shook his head.

 

“Not much. I remember getting Damian and Tim out of there, then Joker beating me with a crowbar. That’s about it.”

 

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat down heavily. “It was bad Jase.” He couldn’t help the slip of using the nickname. “I was almost too late…again. I dug as fast as I could, but I didn’t think I would make it.”

 

“Dug? What did he do?”

 

Bruce paused, unsure of how to break the news, but then decided that straight forward was the best way to go about it. “He buried you alive in a coffin, Jason.”

 

Jason grew wide eyed, but, looking down at his hands, seeing the missing fingernails and cuts, it all started coming back to him. The Joker manhandling him into a suit before he blacked out, then waking up in the coffin.

 

Jason couldn’t help how shallow his breathing got as the memory returned to him, nor the bile rising in his throat. His body began to vomit, but, before anything could come out, a trash can was hastily placed into his hands as he instantly got sick into it.

 

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. He looked up to meet Bruce’s eyes and couldn’t deny the concern and worry that came off of them in waves, nor could he ignore the dark baggies under them from lack of sleep.

 

Suddenly, another fresh wave of memories came over him: Bruce pulling him out of the coffin, holding him tight to his chest as he tried to calm him down, the comforting words and gestures, the concern and love Bruce had shown.

 

He didn’t know what to say, but Bruce broke the silence before Jason had to.

 

“When I found you in that casket…it was just like all the memories of losing you the first time came back full force. I remember finding you in the rubble, holding your broken body in my arms…” Bruce had to stop for a moment to compose himself. “Then coming back and having to pick out your clothes for the funeral, placing you in that coffin, watching it lower into the ground with you inside, knowing you’d never bug me to let you drive the Batmobile again. That I’d never hear Alfred scolding you for stealing a cookie before dinner or that I’d never wake up to you sneaking into my room during a storm because they scared you.”

 

Jason could barely contain his shock when Bruce turned to face him, tears building in his eyes.

 

“I know you don’t believe this, but losing you almost killed me Jason. I…for a long time I didn’t know how I could go on. And then when you came back, I didn’t know what I could say or do to fix things because neither of us have ever been known for admitting our mistakes but…I just wanted you home, Jay. I just wanted my son back.”

 

Jason looked up at Bruce, tears forming in his own eyes as well. He tried to think of something profound or heartfelt to say, but all he could choke out was “ _Dad.”_

Somehow that one word conveyed all it needed to. All the apologies, the remorse, the regrets, the acceptance, and hurt. And it was all Bruce needed. He instantly sat on the edge of the bed, gently wrapping his arms around Jason and pulling him close to him in as fierce of a hug that Bruce would risk with Jason being in the physical shape he was in. His good arm instantly went around Bruce and he buried his head in his chest, something he hadn’t done since very early on as his tenure as Robin.

 

The two sat like that for a few good minutes, soaking in the comfort of the beginning of the healing of many wounds.

 

Finally, Bruce cleared his throat. “Jay.” He paused for a moment, ensuring he had the boy’s attention, before he continued. “Come home.”

 

“Bruce…”

 

“Son, please. I’ve seen your apartment, how you live. Don’t ask me to spend any more nights wondering if you have enough to eat or if you have a warm place to sleep. Your family wants you home, _I_ want my son home.”

 

Jason looked down at the ground, slowly shaking his head.

  
“Why not? What do I have to do for you to come home?”

 

“I don’t deserve to be called your son.”

 

Bruce, realizing that the wayward bird’s walls were down and that if he were to ever reach him, this was it, forced the young man to look at him. “Well, tough luck, because I’ll always view you as my son Jason, always.”

 

Jason looked up at Bruce before nodding and wiping at his eyes. “Okay…but on one condition…we never tell the others about this chick flick moment.”

 

Bruce outright laughed at this – _when was the last time he had legitimately laughed –_ and smiled widely. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He then winked. “It’s probably just the painkillers talking anyway.”

 

* * *

 

 

Four days later, Dick, Damian, Tim, and Jason were sitting around the breakfast table, eating some of Alfred’s famous pancakes, having small talk amongst themselves.

 

The first few nights had been rough. Jason had woken up with nightmares almost every night since practically reliving his death. But, Bruce had refused to go on patrol until Jason was healed up a little better (or at least that’s what he claimed, but Dick speculated that it was actually because he wanted to make sure Jason didn’t change his mind about staying at the Manor) so he was almost always there to calm him down.

  
One night Dick went in there to help, and Jason freaked out, yelling threats at him, but Dick had simply plopped down on the bed and flipped the TV on, not allowing Jason to be alone.

 

Damian was his formal and somewhat indifferent self toward Jason (just like he acted toward everyone) but had informed Jason that his father enjoyed having him home, so he needed to stay (only for Bruce, of course). He also gave Jason back the red helmet, which he had gone to the graveyard to get.

 

Tim was the only one who had tried to address everything that had and was happening. He thanked Jason for getting him away from the Joker and told him he hoped he’d stay at the manor for good. He may have also suggested that the two of them gang up on Damian and Dick to pull some good pranks, but he’d never admit to that.

 

Alfred, always the British gentleman, simply told Jason he was glad he was home and then asked what he wanted for dinner.

 

Things were still touch and go at time, but, for the most part, the Batfamily was settling into their “new normal” fairly well. Bruce had finally gone out on patrol, convincing himself Jason would be fine until he got back and the Red Hood’s wounds were healing nicely.

 

As they sat eating breakfast, Jason flipped the paper open, but stopped cold when he saw the headline: **JOKER ATTACKED IN ARKHAM BY UNKOWN ASSAILANT: PLACED IN BODY CAST DUE TO INJURIES.**

He stared, wide-eyed at the paper, unable to completely grasp what he was reading. He was broken out of his musings when the door to the kitchen opened up and Bruce walked in. Jason’s head snapped up to meet Bruce’s gaze before looking between him and the paper, nonverbally asking the question. _Was this you?_

Bruce walked over to Jason, placing a hand on his shoulder and matching his gaze, his eyes saying all his son needed to hear.

 

_I’ll never let him hurt you again._


End file.
